


Symbiosis

by Eleature



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, POV Peter Hale, Stiles Has Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4686941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleature/pseuds/Eleature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Peter Hale ended up saving Stiles Stilinski from himself and vice versa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cywscross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to cywscross for luring me into the Teen Wolf fandom kicking and screaming against my will, and for awakening my inspiration and will to write again.

Peter’s first encounter with the Sheriff’s delinquent son was not what you would call auspicious. In fact, it was the kind of meeting that would normally provoke a rather vicious, if not violent response in the Hale’s enforcer.

“Shit! I’m so sorry man, I wasn’t paying attention.” The youth’s anxious voice reaches him even before the kid opens the door of his jeep to clamber awkwardly out of its’ seat.

“Clearly,” Peter retorts vapishly as he glares out of the driverseat window of his own car.

The kid doesn’t seem to notice his frankly murderous stare as he focuses on where he hit Peter’s car trying to reverse out of where he’d been parked.

It was just Peter’s luck that he’d been rammed by the Sheriff’s own son at the most remote gas station in Beacon Hills county.

What were the odds? With the way Peter’s last few days had been going, it was admittedly par for the course.

Opening the door and stepping out of the car, Peter rounds it to survey the damage done.

“That’s going to cost you,” he says when he sees the damage. Admittedly it’s barely a scratch, but it’s the principle of the matter. And Peter was in a foul mood even before being run into by the town’s resident truant.

“Fuck!” The kid mutters emphatically. “Look, I- I don’t really have a lot of money. That is to say, I don’t have any. Money that is. I just paid for gas and...” he stops briefly to take a deep breath as he runs an agitated hand through his hair. For the first time he raises his head to briefly meet Peter’s eyes.

Peter is kind of shocked by how tired the kid looks. He’s pale, wan, and he’s got dark bruises surrounding bloodshot eyes. The rumours of the kid being on drugs might be more than just rumours after all. He seems strung out. He has an acrid artificial tone to his scent and Peter would feel bad for him if he had it in him to care. At the moment he’s got enough with himself and the pack.

In the short moment it takes the kid to meet Peter’s gaze, he freezes, his vision sharpens and his pupils shrink to pinpricks in his eyes. He seems to petrify for the briefest of seconds before his posture mellows out to strung-out teen once again. “Peter Hale.” He says it like he’s met Peter before in his life. Like he’s ever had a reason to know who Peter is. Like he knows Peter.

The only reason Peter knows of the kid is because of Derek and his incessant whining about the Sheriff’s delinquent, no-good son, and the blue jeep he drives around town when he’s not grounded for skipping school. He doesn’t even know the kid’s name because frankly Derek’s complaining gets on his nerves and his hero worship of the Sheriff bores him to tears.

Despite himself Peter now wishes he’d payed more attention. He’s _intrigued_.

“And you are?” He replies casually, his interest carefully masked behind habitual disdain.

“Oh,” the kid blinks. “I’m Stiles. Stilinski. But just call me Stiles. Everyone else does. That is to say, my dad does, and-”

“Stiles.” Peter states, and he refuses to pose it as a question. “How... unique.”

The kid, Stiles, blinks bruised eyes at him and miraculously it manages to come off as a guileless gesture.

“If you don’t have any money, what do you propose we do? I seem to recall your surname being somewhat familiar to me.” Peter

doesn’t imagine the brief grimace that flitters across the kid’s- Stiles’ face at the implications in his words.

Stiles briefly seems at a loss for words, a rare occurence Peter can’t help but intuit, before his shoulders straighten and a stubborn expression settles on his features. “I’ll pay it off in work, or... or a favour. Nothing, um... nothing illegal though. Not that I think you’d want me to do anything illegal. That is to say, I just know what people say about me and I wouldn’t. No. That’s not true. If it was important I probably would. Uh, shit. This isn’t a confession or anything. Only, if you really needed it, I probably would. If it was to save lives or something. So.” The kid forcibly stops himself and takes a deep breath before he continues. “I can pay you off in work, or a not too illegal favour.” He finishes.

Peter blinks. He’d never admit it out loud, but he’s feeling kind of blown away by the rushed words. When his brain finally reorients itself, it’s his turn to sharpen his gaze. A not too illegal favour the kid said. Peter lets a wolfish grin cross his face as he regards the teen with predatory eyes.

“I think we can work something out.” He says.

* * *

 

Peter contemplates his run-in with the Sheriff's son on his way back to the Hale house. He can't help but think their meeting to be anything but serendipitous despite the rocky start. The accident might have seemed like it'd be nothing but an inconvenience, but with the favour he'd wrangled from the kid, he might actually be able to do something about the threath to his pack and his place in it.

He turns the key to the ignition and listens to the ticking of the cooling engine for a minute before he leaves the car. He's parked so that he can look at the familiar structure of the Hale house. It's been in the familiy, in the pack, for generations, and but for a stoke of luck it might not've been here today. He hasn't forgotten what nearly happened six, almost seven, years ago. He probably never will. He can't help but feel that his sister has done her best to forget. To put the past behind them as she constantly says.

Peter sneers to himself. He can't help but think that Talia's become soft after what happened to her eldest and only son. Instead of showing a strong front after what happened, instead of striking back and proving them unbroken, she'd pulled them all back, kept them isolated and seemingly gutless and weak. Peter's never understood her decision to let the Argents get away with what they almost did, but he's followed her lead regardless.

He's not sure he can do that anymore. After the most recent events, he's sure he _can't_.

Talia's not fit to lead as Alpha anymore and it's his duty as the enforcer to change the status quo. It's time for a new Alpha to step up and at the moment Peter's the only one who'll do what the pack needs done instead of what the pack wants to be done.

He'll either make the pack or break it, but it certainly won't fall prey to outside forces again. Peter can't abide the Hales being perceived as weak anymore. It's an insult to their heritage and legacy.

* * *

 

Cora meets him at the door when he finally enters the house. He ducks past her with a smile as she flails her way out the door with a wave and a thrown kiss. "Hi uncle Peter! Bye uncle Peter!" She's out before he gets a chance to reply and he can't help but shake his head at her. She's always been an energetic little shit. When Derek did a u-turn from impressionable rule-breaker to law abiding citizen with a stick up his ass, Cora became Peter's undisputed favourite. He's always hoped the sentiment was returned.

He can hear the familiar sounds of his pack throughout the house. Talia's in the kitchen, cluttering around with the kettles. Dinner's soon done and the scents from the meal are permeating the first floor like a warm blanket of familiarity and comfort.

He can hear Talia's husband on the second floor loudly arguing with Laura about how she should come home from her studies at her next break. Derek's not home yet, but Peter can still find traces of his presence in the house. A black leather jacket is haphazardly thrown over a chair in the livingroom and he's left his sneakers in the middle of the doorway when he enters the hallway leading to the bathroom.

Peter's greatest fear is to lose all of this and what it represents.

Derek retunrs from work just as dinner is put on the table. Peter is not surprised. His only nephew's always appreciated a good meal.

"How was work?" Talia enquires as Derek pulls out a chair and takes a seat at the table.

Derek grunts and shrugs off his uniform jacket to hang it over the chair's back. Peter'd scold him for how he treats his clothes, but he knows it's a lost cause. Derek's never been particularly tidy.

"No new reports of any animal attacks." Derek replies tiredly as he takes a serving of potatoes.

Talia hums quietly. "That's good news."

Peter has to concentrate to keep from gritting his teeth. Since when has no news been good news? It's not that he wants more people to be attacked, but he'd certainly want more clues to work with. Forewarned is forearmed after all.

Derek shrugs. "How's the McCall kid doing?" He asks.

"Cora's visiting him today. She managed to get an invitation to dinner since they're working on a school project together. He's still wary about coming here to learn, but after what happened to him I can't really blame him. We still have some time before the full moon, so we can afford to let him come to us." Talia replies.

"It would be better to teach him control sooner rather than later." Peter can't help but interject. "He's a ticking bomb as he is now, and we can't afford to have someone from the pack on his tail twentyfour seven."

Talia sends him a quelling look over the table. "He's had this forced on him against his will," she states. "We can and will do our best not to traumatize him more."

"But what if he ends up traumatizing someone else? He could reveal himself to the wrong person, or worse, he could kill someone!" Peter can't quite keep his voice from rising at the end.

"That enough Peter." Talia cuts him off. "We'll talk about this later." She ends the subject.

Her husband doesn't seem to care about the sudden tension in the room. Peter knows he partially agrees with him, but that he'd never speak against his wife where others can hear him. Derek's the only one looking somewhat awkward. Being a werewolf himself, the friction in the room's more noticable to him than to the human senses of Talia's husband.

"I'll keep you updated if there are anymore attacks or suspicious sightings." Derek eventually breaks the silence. "At the moment the most exiting thing that happened today was how the Sheriff's kid ditched school again."

Peter barely keeps himself from showing anything that would betray his interest as he fixes his gaze on his plate. The meal is half eaten and not even remotely interesting compared to what Derek is saying.

"Everyone on patrol got orders to call it in if they saw him, but no-one did." Derek continues oblivious of Peter's metaphorically perked ears. "I just don't get how he can disrespect his own father like that."

_Like you did your pack?_ Peter thinks, but doesn't say. He knows Derek regrets his past actions. He knows he's turned a new leaf after what happened to him. He knows Derek was the real victim. The only victim by luck alone. He still can't quite forgive either Derek or himself for what happened.

"Teenagers will be teenagers," Derek's father says philosophically. "It's normal to test parents' limits at that age."

Derek grimazes, probably realizing that he doesn't have a leg to stand on. Still, he continues on, righteous in his defence of the Sheriff. Peter does respect the man for helping Derek, for doing his job and subsequently saving them all. "I know, but Stiles isn't normal. He's been like this for as long as I can remember. Disrespectful. Disobediant."

"He did lose his mother young." Talia interjects.

Derek falls silent at that, but Peter can't help but wonder. The Sheriff lost his wife even before Derek was manipulated and taken advantage of. Stiles' mother would have been dead for over seven years. Stiles himself would have been around eight or nine years old when he lost his mother, maybe even younger. Certainly it would've been traumatizing to lose his mother so young, but the teen he met today seemed weighed down by more than his mother's death. Anxious, strung out and frantic by turns. Peter couldn't help but feel that there was more to the boy. Maybe he was a drug addict, or a kid involved in something too big for him. Maybe gangs or something else like it, though Peter doubted it.

If Stiles had been misbehaving for years, since his mother's death, then surely something else was behind it. Peter nearly laughed at his own thoughts. He was overthinking it. Stiles was probably traumatized by losing his mother. He'd probably started out small and things had probably escalated from there. It wasn't unusual for kids with single workaholic parents to act out.

Well, no matter. The kid's delinquent behaviour would work to Peter's favour and he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

* * *

 

Peter met with Stiles a couple of days later. It was after dinner and the afternoon sun was shining dappled lights through the canopy of the trees surrounding the school's lacrosse field.

"This is an odd time and place to meet. I didn't figure you for an eager student staying late at school to get his studies done." Peter couldn't help but comment when Stiles finally showed up.

"Detention." Stiles answered succinctly as he removed his backpack to dig through it. "Also, I might have, maybe lost driving privileges for the rest of the month on account of skipping school the other day." Stiles started to ramble as he finally emerged from the backpack with a thick bundle of papers.

Peter regarded him with open curiosity as the teen straightened with the papers in hand.

Stiles looked better than the last time he saw him. He still looked tired, but the shadows under his eyes weren't as pronounced as before. His scent was also more settled though the artificial tone was still present. He could pinpoint it now as something chemical, a drug, certainly, but probably medicinal. He was still somewhat twitchy, but again, it seemed to be a natural form of twitchyness for the teen. Not the anxious, frantic movements he'd showed at the last meeting.

Peter tracked the teen's long fingers as they tap tap tapped along the edges of the papers in his hands. He had elegant hands. Long and thin, with nails bitten to the quick.

"I got as much information as I could. I couldn't find a lot about the attacks in the preserve, but the information I found from the attacks out of county should help." Stiles said hesitantly as he held the papers out to Peter.

Peter's attention sharpened. "The attacks out of county? I haven't heard anything about attacks out of county." He demanded, nearly, but not breathlessly. Derek hadn't mentioned anything about attacks other than the ones in the preserve.

Stiles shifted restlessly where he stood. "Yeah, I mean, you wanted information on unusual animal attacks so I found dad's records on the attack on Scott and the mutilated animals. After that I searched for other similar attacks from areas bordering the preserve. Most of the information on those were in different news articles online so they're not the most detailed, but maybe they'll be of help?"

Peter blinked, startled that he hadn't thought to check the internet himself and silently damning himself for it. He'd been too preoccupied by the mauled animals in the preserve and the subsequent attack on the McCall kid. The sigils carved into the animals had signaled the maulings as something personal for the Hale pack. He simply hadn't thought to check sources outside the county and the territory of his pack.

Briefly looking through the pages, Peter stopped at a familier name. "What's this?" He held the page that had caught his interest out for Stiles to see.

"Oh, that." Stiles blinked and ran a hand through his hair selfconciously. "I just. Even though I know I said I'd be willing to do something slightly illegal to pay you back, I didn't think you'd ask me to. So I did some digging." Stiles glanced nervously in Peter's direction even as he powered on. "Into you, I mean. And your family. And I read about Derek and that woman. Uh, Kate? Kate Argent? Oh God! Please don't kill me!" Stiles backtracked a couple of steps and his voice rose frantically as he back-pedaled.

Peter absently noticed that he'd crused the paper in his fist when he'd curled it in instinctual anger at the mentioned name. He'd also subconciously taken a step forwards. Luckliy he hadn't lost more control than that, and his claws weren't out yet. His eyes were blue, but not preternaturally so.

"I'm sorry." Peter forced out. "It's just that name. What she did to.." He trailed off.

Stiles was nodding rapidly. "Wow, yeah. No. I get it." He kept nodding, hands held up in defence.

Peter forced himself to take a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. The nervous, agitated scent of the teen in front of him hit his nose and he forced himself to calm further. The kid had done good so far. He'd earned enough slack for Peter to hear him out.

"Please continue."

"Yeah, so," Stiles started hesitantly. "I read about what... happened?" He trailed off. Peter nodded to show that he could continue. Stiles kept his silence for another second, gauging his sincerity before he forged on. "So, I noticed that dad had tagged that surname way back when. And it came up again now, so. Um, i guess. They're back in town? The Argents I mean. Or, at least, um, Chris is back in town. With his wife and daughter. Or he's moved here for the first time. I don't think he was here when she. I mean. She was his sister, I think? At least that's what the records say. And I thought that you'd want to know. That he's here. No. I mean, that someone from that family's here. You should know. You and your family I mean. I, shit. I'm not making much sense am I?" Stiles eventually trailed off in a question.

Peter was coming to realize that the feeling of being blown away that he'd had the first time he'd met Stiles, would probably become something of a familiarity in their interactions. At least it seemed that way for now. Two out of two meetings wasn't a pattern yet, but it wasn't far off either.

"No." He eventually answered when he'd gathered himself. "You're making a lot of sense."

Peter regarded the teen in front of him once again. He couldn't help but feel that there was so much more to the kid than what was immediately apparant. Stiles was tall and gangly. He was pale, but not in the sense that he didn't get out much. His skin seemed pale like moonlight seemed pale. It was clean and refreshing. The moles dotted around on the surface of his skin only accentuated and didn't detract from how natural and well the skintone fit him. His hair was dark brown. Maybe there were hints of auburn in it. Peter couldn't tell since it was too short for him to judge that. His eyes though, were tinged copper gold, like a glass of sunstreaked whiskey.

At the first impression, Stiles seemed scatterbrained and distracted. He fluttered about and always seemed to be in motion, even when he stood still. His heartrate was a bit elevated compared to other youths his age. He seemed tired. Stressed.

The second impression leant the illusion that the kid was a willfull rulebreaker, bucking under the weight of authority. Here was a kid willing to do something rash for dumb reasons, but...

But.

Peter narrowed his eyes slightly as Stiles' fidgeted in apparent discomfort.

The third impression revealed a far more intriguing side to the teen. A side Peter'd more sensed than glimpsed at their first meeting. Here was a kid probably constantly under the watchful eyes of his father. Allegedly the best sheriff Beacon Hills had ever had. Here was a youth barely into his teens capable of thinking outside the box and capable of seeing the bigger picture. A teen capable and willing to skirt the law, but not with the intent to harm others. Peter strongly suspected that Stiles was a person more to his own way of thinking than Talia's. Otherwise he wouldn't have told Peter that the Argents were back in town.

Talia would've kept that information close, willfully blinding herself to the possibility of her pack getting hurt in a senseless belief that the pack not knowing about Argents would help to keep them safe.

Peter swallowed heavily, his throat suddenly dry as sandpaper. He had to keep the pack safe. Talia certainly wouldn't. He had to kill the Alpha.

"Thank you." Peter eventually said when the silent staring had dragged on far too long. 

Stiles' entire body jerked in surprise. "Oh, it was nothing. I mean, of course it wasn't nothing to you. I mean." He stopped and took a visible deep breath. "Your welcome."

Peter was about to leave when Stiles abruptly stilled again. Like the last time it happened, when he'd recognized Peter for the first time, his entire body seemed to freeze for less than a second before he loosened up again into a lanky spastic teenager. Peter still took notice and halted in his step, turning sideways to keep Stiles in his vision. The teen's gaze was cool for once. Calculating.

Peter inexplicably felt his hackles rising. A chill ran down his back like a frozen waterfall.

"Whatever's mauling those animals," Stiles began, his voice measured and words carefulle chosen. "Whatever bit Scott. I don't think it's a mountain lion like the reports say. The markings on the bodies are... not something an animal would do." Stiles paused briefly, gauging Peter's attention. "If you're going after it, whatever it is. Don't do it alone."

Having said his piece, he left.

* * *

The next time they met wasn't anymore planned than the first, though there were less vehicular accidents involved. Thankfully.

It was a full week later and Peter'd been meticulous in combing through the information-packet Stiles had gathered for him. The information that there'd been attacks outside of Beacon Hills county had been priceless, and Peter was now reasonably sure that he knew where to look next. The other attacks that occurred had given him enough to sense a pattern that he wanted check out properly.

Peter was in a hurry. He was just planning to pop into the diner to grab a quick coffee before he drove on to check out his latest hunch. He was excited and wasn't planning to stop for anything, which was why he surprised himself by slowing as he exited the diner and spotted Stiles' blue jeep in the parking lot.

Peter frowned even as he drew nearer to the jeep. Hadn't Stiles said that he'd lost driving privileges when they last met?

Stopping at the driver's door, Peter could see Stiles awkwardly reclined in the driver's seat. He looked to be sleeping, fitfully at that. His heartrate was through the roof and he had a thin layer of sweat covering his upper lip. He jerked in his sleep at times, as if someone was prodding him with a pointy stick at odd intervals. Peter could scent the sour, acrid stench of fear through the closed door.

Frowning, Peter felt unsettled at seeing the teen in such obvious distress. Without secondguessing himself, he rapped shortly on the jeep's window.

Stiles jackhammered up in the seat and nearly ended up braining himself on the steering wheel. His breath was coming in agitated exhales, as if he'd been running and had trouble drawing in enough oxygen.

"Stiles," Peter prompted, hoping to draw his attention.

Stiles blinked a couple of times before his eyes eventually focused on Peter. "Hale," he answered, still seeming a bit out of it even as he rolled down his window.

Peter wanted to ask him about the obvious nightmare he'd just witnessed, but couldn't quite manage to interrogate the boy when he clearly wasn't all there yet. "Out on a coffee-run?" He asked instead.

Stiles ran an agitated hand through his hair. Peter recognized it as a tick he did when he was uncomfortable or nervous. "No," Stiles muttered eventually, even as he had to break off to yawn. "I was looking for you actually." He finished.

Peter couldn't have been more surprised. "Me?"

"Yeah, was on my way..." Stiles gestured up the road that would eventually take him to the Hale house. "But then I was really tired and I thought it would be smart to stop for a couple of minutes."

Peter couldn't fault him for that. Now that the window wasn't obstructing his view, he could see that Stiles looked the worse than ever. His pale skin looked washed out and the dark bruises around his eyes were nearly black. He had a fine tremble running through the entirety of his body, unnoticeable if not for Peter's enchanted senses.

"You don't look fit to drive anywhere." He eventually ended up saying. "Your revoked driving privileges seem to be less of a punishment and more an attempt in saving you from yourself. And shouldn't you be in school?" He couldn't help but add.

Stiles grimazed halfheartedly. "Dad called me in sick."

"I'm not surprised. You should be in bed." Peter couldn't help but wonder why the teen had been haring off to find him when he was so obviously unwell.

"It couldn't wait." Stiles turned in his seat to dig out a new bundle of papers from the glove compartment. "Here," he thrust them at Peter. "I found out more about the animal attacks. You should read them when you get home."

Peter nearly fumbled the new bundle of papers, but managed to catch them and stack them into some kind of order.

Curious as he was about what could be important enough in them for Stiles to drive out to find him when he was sick, Peter couldn't help but be more worried about Stiles himself. The kid really didn't look good.

"We should get you home." Peter couldn't keep from articulating his worry even as Stiles blinked blearily at him.

"Yeah, I-" Stiles broke off into a yawn. "I'll drive straight home after this."

"The hell you will!" Peter exclaimed, shocked into a sudden overprotective anger at this odd, thoughtful teen in front of him. "I'll drive you." The words were out, before his mind could regulate his thoughts.

"The jeep," Stiles protested. "I'll be even more grounded than I already am, if I leave the jeep here for dad or one of his deputies to find."

"I'll drive you home in the jeep and get someone to come pick me up. You really shouldn't be driving Stiles." Peter implored.

Blinking once more at him, Stiles seemed to study him briefly before a halfsmile crossed his features. There and gone again before he could blink. "Yeah, okay. Thanks." He finally replied acquiescent.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any mistakes. It's been years since I've written anything in english and this work hasn't been betaed.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles getting the new information to Peter when he did probably ends up saving his life. Peter can't help but think back on what Stiles had said when he'd handed over the second bundle of papers. _It couldn't wait_. Not; _it was urgent_ , or; _I couldn't wait_.

 _It_ couldn't wait.

As if it had been somehow imperative that Stiles'd gotten the information to Peter when he did. Which it had been, but how could Stiles've known that? Peter can't seem to let go of this train of thought. He's clamped his fangs down on it and is now metaphorically shaking his head in order to shake something loose.

If Stiles hadn't stopped to take nap when he did, Peter would've gone on to his probable death with no-one the wiser. If Peter hadn't been curious at seeing the jeep parked where he knew it shouldn't be. If he hadn't been so intrigued by the teen that he'd been compelled to check up on him. If. If. If.

Peter's overthinking again. It seems to be a theme when Stiles is involved.

"Two Alpha-weres Peter? Are you sure?"

Peter meets Talias gaze frankly, non of his thoughts showing on his blank face. _You think I'd lie about something like this?_ He doesn't say. _You think I'd tell you this if I believed I could deal with it myself?_ The latter thought, he also keeps to himself, though he suspects Talia's been thinking something similar. She reeks of suspicion.

"At least two," he reiterates. He's been over this with her already. He'd read over the new information as soon as Cora'd been able to pick him up from Stiles' neighbourhood. He'd known he couldn't keep the information from Talia as soon as he'd understood the true impact of what the papers contained.

Stiles had broadened his search in the week since Peter'd last seen him. He'd found rumours and evidence of at least two separate origins of attacks spanning the forests surrounding Beacon Hills and the Hale territory. Two separate attacks on _humans_ , not animal maulings. Both of the humans had died of what the coroner believed to be an unknown allergic reaction, or some form of shock to the system.

 _Rogue Alphas attempting to build a pack_. Peter didn't like feeling threatened and pressed into a corner. He didn't know if the Alphas were working together or if they were having some form of high-stakes competition. Either way they'd singled out Beacon Hills and were here already, planning out who knew what. Something personal, certainly, what with the triskelion carved into the remains of over a dozen butchered animals.

"Shit," Talia finally said, as what Peter'd told her sunk in. "We have to bring the McCall kid into the pack as soon as possible. We can't afford to wait for him to come to us."

Peter couldn't help but lower his previously tense shoulders in relief. He'd kept from mentioning the newborn omega running around. He'd been too afraid that anything he said would antagonize Talia to do the opposite of what he wanted. They loved each other like siblings sometimes did. Fiercely, but with too much distrust, suspicion and competition between them.

"I'll talk to Cora," Peter said, and it was a testament to the threat they were under that his Alpha didn't protest.

* * *

  
Peter felt wrung out that evening when Scott McCall finally left the Hale house. They'd managed to convince him that he should come to them when the full moon hit in a week's time. He'd been turned right after the last full moon and he'd been a werewolf for nearly three full weeks now. Peter'd never met a more stubborn, infuriating boy, but he couldn't fault the kid's control. He hadn't attacked anyone yet in spite of his new instincts, heightened senses and feelings. Still, Peter would disdain him for the rest of his life on the sole reason that the moron had somehow managed to aquire the Argent's offspring as his anchor.

The truce being what it was, Peter hadn't done anything to either the girl or her parents yet, but that would change the second they put a toe out of line. Peter had informed Talia and the rest of the pack as soon as Stiles had told him about their presence, and he knew Talia still resented him somewhat for not telling her one-on-one. She'd still been quite adamant at ordering the pack to leave the Argents alone.

Cora hadn't much cared. She went to school with Chris' daughter, and seemed of the opinion that Allison was still in the dark regarding the supernatural aspect of things. Her parents were clearly hunters, and had just as clearly come here when the animal maulings and the attack on McCall had been impossible to hide anymore.

Derek had been even more reticent than what was normal for him. He'd taken to being more cautious and observant when he was out working patrols. Peter approved. They should all keep their guard up when hunters were about.

Laura had started a fight with her father about quitting or taking a break from college so that she could move back for as long as the Argents planned on staying. Her father wouldn't hear anything of it, but managed to finally wrangle a promise out of her about visiting at the next holiday.

Peter didn't know if he felt better about her being out of harm's way, or if he'd feel better if they could all stick together and present a united front.

* * *

  
"I just don't understand it!" Scott's agitated voice reached Peter before he'd even entered the house and he hesitated outside the door, hand outstretched to grip the doorhandle. The kid seemed unusually flustered, and Peter's natural curiosity kept him from barging in and interrupting whatever he was about to overhear.

"Stiles was my best friend when we were kids, but now it's almost like we never even knew each other."

  
Peter perked up in interest and carefully made his way over to one of the chairs located on the house's front porch. It looked like he might learn more about his enigmatic little helper and Peter couldn't help but be exited at getting to know more about Stiles from another person's point of view.

"What happened?" Cora's voice was quieter than Scott. Obviously she wasn't as emotionally invested in the conversation as Scott, but she still seemed interested to know more.

"I don't know," Scott admitted hopelessly. "He was like my brother, but after his mother died, he started pushing me away. I thought he just needed more time to adjust, but no matter what I did, or how much space I gave him, he barely even talked to me." Scott sounded heartbroken.

Peter couldn't help but feel disappointed. His mother's death again? Was that really all there was to it? All the disobediance and the skipping school and the anxious behaviour?

"I'm sorry," Cora attempted to comfort. "That sounds harsh. When was the last time you talked to him?"

Scott sighed. "I don't know. The night I was bitten? I was trying to find him in the woods that night. He'd looked really bad at school that day and I wanted to talk to him, to see if there was something I could do to help."

Peter felt as if an electical current ran trough him as his senses became even more alert. _The woods? Why would Stiles be traipsing about in the woods in the middle of the night?_

"What was he doing out in the woods?" Cora enquired, practically reading Peter's mind and hopefully helping to quench his thirst for more information.

Peter could hear the sound of rustling, as if Scott was fidgeting in his seat or moving something around.

"I don't really know? He used to go out into the woods after nightmares when he was little. And then, when his mother got sick, he continued to hide out there when he needed to be alone. I guess it's just a habit he never really got rid of."

"He used to have nightmares?" Cora asked quietly, again reading Peter's mind.

"Yeah," Scott was nearly whispering. "They were really awful. I slept at his place a couple of times in the beginning, but we had to stop because he kept waking me up when he started screaming or crying in his sleep."

"Shit. That's rough," Cora commiserated. "Does he still have them? He doesn't exactly look well rested the times I've seen him at school."

Scott laughed hollowly. "No, yeah. They stopped right after his mother died. Now, it's the ADHD. He gets distracted by something and stays up all night when he should be sleeping. I just... I just wish he'd talk to me!" Scott ended plaintively. "He's not really anything like the rumours make him out to be. He doesn't do drugs, other than the Adderall he takes for his ADHD. He has a wicked sense of humor and he's loyal like you wouldn't believe.

"Do you remeber the time Jackson's locker was rigged with feathers and glue? I know they never proved who did it, but I swear it was Stiles. The day before, Jackson stole my inhaler when I had an asthma attack and Stiles managed to get it back for me. The next day, Jackson's locker was rigged."

"But he doesn't really talk to you anymore?" Cora prodded carefully.

Scott let out a heavy sigh. "He doesn't talk to anyone anymore."

* * *

  
"We keep running into each other." Stiles says it like it's an inside joke between them. At least he doesn't look like he's about to fall asleep at the wheel and wrap his car around a tree in the immediate future. Peter manages to convince himself that this is the only reason he's happy to see him.

He doesn't have the chance to do a more in-depth examination of the kid as he wrenches the door of the jeep open and throws himself inside.

"Drive!" He shouts, almost growls, as he turns around to check the forest for any shadows or red eyes that don't belong.

Stiles, bless his human heart, doesn't argue and speeds away before Peter has to come up with an explanation for why he was running around in the woods like a flock of devils were after him. Or a pack of Alpha werewolves.

It's just his luck that the Alpha pack was roaming around in the woods on the night it was his turn to patrol. And it is a pack. A pack of four from what Peter could see. _A pack of Alphas._ Peter wouldn't believe it if he hadn't seen it himself, but that was definitly a cohesieve unit working towards a common goal he'd run into. As opposed to a couple of Alphas duking it out to see which of them has the bigger stick.

 _Shit._ Peter doesn't know how to fix this. When he believed it was just one, he thought he could solve the entire issue by killing the Alpha and taking on the mantle himself. Talia would've disapproved terribly, in fact, she already stopped him from killing an Alpha the night the McCall kid was bitten. If he had managed it though, he could've stood equal to Talia and she'd be forced to listen more to his counsel as opposed to always doing what she herself thought was best, like she did now. Worst case scenario they'd be forced to splinter the pack to keep the peace, but at least Peter could be sure that the betas following _him_ would be kept safe.

Who in their right mind sent out lone wolves to patrol when there was evidence of at least two hostile Alphas around? Talia. That's who. Peter's sister had become an idiot. And Peter was the fool who followed her lead.

But still, a pack of Alphas. Peter really didn't know how he was supposed to keep the pack safe from an entire pack of Alphas. For all that the Hale pack was old and respected, the core pack was small and the branch-members were scattered. It would take time to assemble every member of the familiy to defend the Hale territory. Time they evidently didn't have, seeing as the hostile pack was beginning to let itself be known. Peter could recognize a hostile takeover when it attempted to rip his throat out.

"You okay?"

Startled, Peter glanced sideways to take in the visage of his unplanned rescuer. In the chaos following his escape from the Alpha pack, he'd managed to forget his surprising get-away driver.

Clearing his throat, Peter righted himself in his seat. "Yeah, I just had a run-in with some unexpected wildlife." Peter finally replied.

Stiles snorted as he threw him a humorous smirk. "I can tell."

Peter raised an eyebrow in enquiery.

Stiles gestured. "You've got claw-marks on your coat."

Peter looked down and damned if he didn't. "This was my favourite coat," he muttered petulantly.

Stiles smirked again. "Shouldn't have worn it while hiking in the forest then."

"I wasn't hiking," Peter replied before he had a chance to think. Stiles really was an expert at catching him off guard and destroying his careful equilibrium.

"No, I guessed that." Stiles answered somberly. "So, did you have a run-in with the not-mountain-lions?" He went on asking.

"The not-mountain-lions?" Peter couldn't help but send him a judgemental frown.

"Yeah, you know. The ones behind the attacks and the maulings that couldn't possibly have been done by wild animals. Because of the strange carvings. Maybe trained animals could've done it. Trained animals with opposable thumbs, wolf-teeth and wolf-claws."

Peter forced himself to not act differently at the ramblings Stiles was spewing forth.

"Hey, maybe it's some kind of monkey-wolf hybrid. Like a trained wolfpansee or something?" Stiles rabled on. "Not a not-mountain-lion. A wolfpansee? A chimpanolf?" He trailed off as he caught Peter's blank expression. "Nevermind. I've got nothing."

Peter kind of regretted ever getting in the car with the teen. Even if the alternative had been a bloody and painful death.

To save himself from further torment, he changed the subject.

"You don't talk," was what his brain decided to divulge.

"What?" Stiles shot him a sceptical look as he changed gears. The jeep screeched omniously before the gear caught and it continued rumbling along.

"What do you mean I don't talk? I talk all the time." Stiles continued. "In fact, I have it on good authority that I talk too much."

"No," Peter interrupted him. He licked his lips and chanced a sideways glance at Stiles. "I mean, you don't talk to your classmates or your friends."

"Oh." Stiles had his eyes fixed on the road, hands clenched on the steering-wheel so hard that his knuckles whitened. He didn't seem inclined to say anything more and Peter briefly considered letting it lie. If only he wasn't so curious. If only Stiles didn't intrigue and interest Peter as much as he did.

"You talk to me though," Peter eventually continued doggedly.

Stiles flexed his hands briefly before he forcefully relaxed them. He met Peters interested eyes briefly before he looked back on the road.

Peter waited.

"I guess..." Stiles started hesitantly. "I don't know why, but somehow, you're safe to talk to." He eventually said.

Peter regarded him calmly at that unexpected piece of information. Then, silently, "I'm glad." He ended up saying. And he was.

* * *

  
Stiles ended up driving them to the gas station where they'd met the first time. Peter didn't know if it was a conscious choice from Stiles' side, but somehow it seemed appropriate. They hadn't talked after Peter's last reply, but the silence hadn't been awkward or oppressive, but rather familiar. Comfortable. Which was strange since Peter and Stiles hadn't spent much time together in silence.

They'd been sitting in silence in the jeep for a while, each nursing a coffee Peter had bought from a surly attendant at the gas station, when Peter finally broke the silence. "What were you doing out in the woods in the middle of the night anyway?" Peter asked.

Stiles shrugged. "I couldn't really sleep and I've always spent a lot of time in the forest."

"Hmm..." Peter murmured, "I've always found the woods a good place to find some peace, or to get a little lost if I need that more."

Stiles shrugged noncomittally.

"Scott's been a frequent visit to our house lately," Peter tried again, not to be deterred. "Seems like he and Cora's been getting to know each-other while they work on their project."

Stiles smiled somewhat bitterly. "More like they're gossiping about me, you mean."

"They're worried about you." Peter pressed. " _Scott's_ worried about you."

Stiles shrugged again. Peter was beginning to hate the gesture.

"Yeah. I know. He's a good friend. The best friend I could've ever asked for." Stiles eventually said, his voice stilted and carefully controlled.

Peter turned his gaze on the coffee as he pondered what to say next. He really didn't get Stiles, or maybe he got him all too well. Stiles was the kind of person who could talk all day about random inanities and thoughts, but who would rarely, if ever, talk about something which really _meant_ something to him.

Peter saw a lot of himself in the kid. He too hated talking about anything personal, and he resented those who tried to force him to talk if he didn't want to. If he was ever to bare himself, it had to be on his own terms. Stiles was probably the same.

Peter stole a brief glance at the teen next to him. Stiles was turning his empty coffee cup around in his hands. His fingers gliding around the edges, nails picking on where the cheap styrofoam was starting to fray.

Maybe, to get Stiles to open up a bit, Peter would have to do so first.

He didn't know why, but something in him, some buried instinct, told him that it was imperative to get Stiles to open up to someone. You didn't have to have a doctorate in psycology to see that something was severely wrong in Stiles' life. Peter just couldn't figure out what.

Derek's many stories told of a father who loved the boy deeply, if somewhat distantly, on account of disobediant behaviour and numerous lies from Stiles' side. Stiles had a good friend that cared and worried about him, but despite this the boy seemed to isolate himself. He skipped school a lot, but no-one had ever managed to get an answer as to why he did so. Despite this, he had remarkably good grades, placing second after some girl in Cora's class. So, obviously the teen was intelligent and driven.

Peter just couldn't see the whole picture. Why would Stiles work so hard to keep his grades up, only to risk expulsion by his many, many truancy days? He wasn't lazy and he obviously cared about the people around him, despite doing his best to push them away. Why did he seem almost deathly tired at times? What about the nightmare Peter had witnessed? Was that a one-time occurence or were the nightterrors not as gone as Stiles would have his friends and family believe? And why would he even keep something like having bad dreams secret?

If not for ther kid's own good, Peter wanted Stiles to open up to him so that Peter could finally solve the riddle the kid represented.

It was obviously time for more drastic measures.

"After what happened to Derek," Peter began, slowly, haltingly. He didn't really know how to do this, or what to say to get through to Stiles, but he was determined to try.

Stiles cocked his head towards Peter, and even though he kept his gaze fixed on his hands, Peter knew he was listening.

"I hated Argent almost as much as I hated myself." Peter forced out.

At that, Stiles lifted his head and turned to meet Peter's eyes. He seemed young suddenly, uncertain in the face of Peter's confession. Peter could hear how the teen's heartbeat had kicked up a bit and he took a deep breath, swallowed hard once, and forced himself to continue.

"I made a mistake long ago, before Argent first came to town, and it... It made Derek vulnerable to her... advances." Peter forged on, trying to force back the bile that always wanted to rise if he thought too hard about that time in his life. He'd only wanted to help the pack grow, to make his favourite nephew, Derek, happy. He'd thought getting Paige turned was the way to do it. He'd been wrong and Derek had been forced to kill his first girlfriend, all the while thinking a human could never truly love him unless she'd been turned first.

Kate had noticed and exploited that insecurity in Derek ruthlessly.

Stiles looked ready to interrupt him, so Peter shot him a quelling look to keep him quiet. He didn't think he'd ever speak of this again if he couldn't get it all out now.

"After everything was said an done. After what happened to Derek. After what almost happened to my-" _pack,_ "my familiy... I just knew that I was the one to blame. If I hadn't done what I did years ago, if I hadn't laid the groundwork for the Argent's manipulations, Derek wouldn't have even been a target. Talia, my sister, knew this too, and though she's since forgiven me, she's never truly trusted me again.

"So I blamed myself. And I thought I deserved punishment for what I'd done. I started keeping to myself when we had family gatherings. I spoke less to the people around me, and I was often cruel and short with them. My family started to avoid me, and I was angry and relieved by turns."

Peter pauses shortly as he flexes his hands helplessly.

"Derek's the one who finally knocked some sense into me, believe it or not." Peter snorts in amusement at the memory. He can see Stiles smile sadly at him from the corner of his eye.

"He got where I was coming from because he blamed himself just as much. So we got into a huge fight over who was really responsible. In the end we were too tired to continue and we eventually agreed to lay the blame on the one who truly deserved it." Peter ended, and even though the entire story was true, he'd never really been able to let go of the idea that _he_ was to blame.

To this day he was _terrified_ of anything similar happening to the pack again. Which was why he wanted to kill the Alphas so he could have more strength to protect the pack, and so that outsiders would see that the Hale's weren't as weak as the recent years had led them to believe.

Stiles let the silence stretch in the jeep for a moment before his natural chivalry forced him to repay in kind, as Peter had suspected he would.

He never could've predicted what Stiles revealed next though.

"I killed my mom."

Peter'd just taken the last sip from his coffee and he nearly swallowed wrong as the surprise he felt at the information hit him. He had to cover his mouth with a hand as he coughed to clear his throat.

"I beg your pardon," he wheezed.

Stiles was unmoved at Peter's near-choking, in fact he hadn't moved at all since his confession, his eyes fixed blankly on something intangible as Peter fought to compose himself

"You did _not_!" Peter finally managed to exclaim, half in horror at what Stiles had said, but mostly in horror that Stiles _believed_ it. The kid's heartbeat hadn't skipped a beat at his confession.

Stiles finally turned to face him and his skin was blotchy and red, eyes nearly overfilling with unshed tears. "You can't know that!" he protested, either out of a wounded sense of being disbelieved, or out of a deep-rooted need to have Peter believe him. "You don't know what I'm capable of, what I've _done_!" His voice was rising, even as his heartrate followed suit. His breath turned choppy and superficial, and _for all things holy!_  Was he having a panic attack?

"Are you having a panic attack?" Peter demanded, near panicking himself. He had no idea how to deal with a panicking human. He barealy went near his own human relatives out of a genuin fear of breaking them or something.

Stiles couldn't really answer him, but Peter figured the increasingly panicked breathing and his now thundering hearbeat was answer enough.

Him and his fucking great ideas. When would Peter learn to let sleeping dogs lie? His good intentions always seemed to bring out the worst in people.

Forcing himself calm, Peter grabbed Stiles' hand and brought it to his own chest, resting it over his own heart. He placed one of his hands on the back of Stiles' neck and held it there, not squeezing, but simply letting the pressure of the touch act a something grounding. The position was awkward for him, the driving stick was poking him uncomfortably in the hip, but he tried to ignore it and focused on the panicking teen in front of him.

"It's going to be fine Stiles. Calm down. Follow my breathing, listen to my voice." He continued to ramble on for what felt like a long time, before Stiles finally calmed down enough to breathe normally again.

Peter could smell the salt from his tears. His natural scent seemed permeated by both exhaustion, sadness, residual anxiety and, unexpectedly, contentment.

"I didn't mean for you to see that." Stiles eventually muttered against Peter's collarbone. _I didn't mean to say that,_ Peter mentally translated. Maybe he was starting to read Stiles better already? They'd migrated towards eachother during the panic attack and Stiles was now nestles against Peter's side, his arms were clutching Peter subconsciously while Peter was rubbing his back soothingly.

"I won't tell anyone." Peter eventually managed to answer. He felt as wrung out as Stiles looked.

Peter kept rubbing Stiles' back soothingly as he tried to work out what he should do. It was obvious that what Stiles had revealed was a really tender subject for him, and no wonder, but Peter didn't really know where to go from here.

He'd managed to get Stiles to open up to him, but what now? He didn't believe for a second that Stiles had killed his mother. Stiles wasn't the only one who'd done his homework and Peter knew that the Sheriff's wife had died from early onset dementia. No way a kid could be responsible for inflicting that on anyone, least of all their own mother. Still, it was disturbing, and telling, that Stiles truly believed that he was somehow to blame. Peter couldn't help but wonder what Stiles had experienced in the time before his mother got sick until she died later on. What had happened to Stiles that he still couldn't fight himself free of it nearly a decade later?

"I don't know why you'd believe you are to blame for your mother's death," Peter began haltingly, idly playing with the hair at the back of Stiles' neck as Stiles breathed heavily against him. His damp breath kept brushing against Peter's neck, but he didn't feel the normal urge to protect himself from showing a perceived weakness.

Whatever else Stiles was, he didn't register as a threat to Peter's senses.

"I might not understand, or know what to say," Peter continued. "But I want you to know that if you need someone to talk to, I'd be willing to listen."

Peter waited in silence for a while, curious and tense as to what Stiles would choose to do. When the silence stretched on for an unaturally long while, he eventually realised that Stiles had fallen asleep.

Chuckling silently to himself, Peter carefully arranged Stiles in a more comfortable position.

He had calls to make to his Alpha. He had to warn the pack about the hostiles moving around in their territory. He had plans to make, a pack to keep safe, but...

Peter stole a glance at the exhausted teen resting safely and soundly in the crook of his arm.

For now, he was exactly where he needed to be.

* * *

  
"You're Peter Hale, Derek's uncle. You're the one that drove Stiles home last night."

Peter turns from where he was perusing groceries in the vegetable aisle. He'd been trying to decide between red apples and green apples.

"Sheriff," Peter greets politely when he recognizes the man behind the voice. "Yes, that's right. How is your son doing? He was pretty wiped out when I encountered him at the edge of the preserve last night." He replies politely.

The Sheriff regards him neutrally for a short moment. "He's actually the reason I wanted to talk to you?" The Sheriff starts.

"Really," Peter probes as he puts the green apples back in the aisle. Bagging the red apples he turns his attention back on Stiles' father. "How can I be of help?"

"Are you available to come for a visit sometime later today?" Sheriff Stilinski inquires. "Stiles is planning to meet up with some friends and I don't really think the grocery store is the right place for the conversation I want to have."

Peter doesn't show his surprise at the question. He can't think of a reason as to why the Sheriff would want to speak with him in private. Still, he's done nothing wrong - in a while - and he doesn't believe he has anything to fear from Stiles' father. Word around town paints him as a fair and hardworking individual. Peter's natural inquisitiveness urges him to agree nearly instantly. If only he wasn't otherwise engaged this evening.

"I'm afraid I have to decline," Peter shrugs helplessly, keeping his posture open and guileless by grace of much practice. "I already have plans with my familiy. Perhaps tomorrow evening?"

Sheriff Stilinski agrees readily and they part ways wordlessly after the plan to meet is made. Peter's gaze follows the Sheriff's retreating back attentively. His mind's spinning like a hamster on a wheel.

* * *

  
The full moon comes and goes without a hitch.

Scott manages well enough, and Talia had made sure to keep the pack running deep in the preserve where no hunters would find them. Everyone in the pack are happy and exhausted as they stumble to bed after frolicking around in the woods all night.

Everyone, but Peter, that is.

Peter is deeply suspicious. He'd been sure the Alpha pack would've made a move.

The next morning he gets a call from Sheriff Stilinski informing him that he regretfully has to postpone their talk. Peter's still tired after being on his guard the entire night of the full moon, so he halfheartedly mutters his understanding before he falls back to sleep. He finds out the reason for the Sheriff's cancellation when he settles in to read the newspaper later that day. 

 _ **Gruesome remains found in Beacon Hills' preserve!**  _Says the headline on the frontpage. There's a blown-up picture under it, but the only things reconizable in the photo are trees, police-tape and an entire football-team of uniformed officers, front and centre is the Sheriff himself.

 


End file.
